Rising Star
by Little.Miss.Xanda
Summary: He knew what he had to do. He had been groomed for it all his life. It had been seared into his mind what he would be, what he had to be. What could he do now that it had been taken from him?


**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made.

 **Written for the Quidditch League – Season 4 Fanfiction Competition – Round 9**

 **Round 9 – A Very Potter Disneyland**

A couple of seasons back there was a round all about basing fics off classic fairy tales. Seeing as it was pretty popular, we're bringing that idea back again. Only this time, we've given each position a classic Disney animated film to incorporate into your story somehow.

This story doesn't have to be a complete re-write, nor does it have to be an AU; write your given prompt in however you please. Just remember that judges will be looking for originality!

 **Chaser 2:** The Lion King

 **Additional Prompts:**

7.(word) clandestine

14.(object) a broken wand

15.(quote) 'The circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant. It's what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are.' - Mewtwo

 **Chaser 2 for the Wimbourne Wasps**

 **Word count: 2975**

* * *

 **Rising Star**

Bryan was looking out the window, watching his two sons locked in a mock duel. Both were so energetic, and not for the first time he wondered why he had ever thought it was a good idea to have two children with so little age difference between them.

He chuckled when Arthur—his mirror image: black hair and gray eyes, with high cheekbones and a chiseled chin—was able to trip his older brother and proclaimed his victory to the skies.

"Husband."

He turned, smiling at his beautiful wife, his Aine. If Arthur was his mirror image, then Mordrain was Aine's. Their fiery red hair and crystal clear, blue eyes were an obvious indicator of Aine's Irish origins. The red hair was a good match for their fiery temper as well, though Mordrain had taken more after him in terms of temper, while Arthur took more after Aine.

"Yes?"

"You seem to be deep in thought."

His smile dimmed. He held out his hand, and Aine was quick to take it. He pulled her closer, sighing when the scent of lavender invaded his senses. "My father demanded I pick an heir. You know how he is. You know he wants Arthur to be the heir to the family, even though Mordrain is older. He believes that Arthur is more powerful and would be a better head for the family."

"You disagree?" Aine raised an eyebrow.

"I…" Bryan's shoulders slumped. "You know I love both of our sons; however, I am not blind to their faults. No matter how powerful Arthur may be, he is not fit to lead. I know he wants it—even as young as he is, it is easy to see—but that just tells me that he might not be the right person for it."

Aine caressed his cheek. "The Weasley family is envied by many because they do not declare the oldest child the Heir simply because he is the oldest. You choose what is best for the family—which is something to be admired. " She smiled at him. "I know that you will do what is best in the end, and our children will accept it. They love one another dearly. Besides, they are only turning twelve and ten. They have time to grow."

Bryan sighed, pulling his wife into a gentle embrace. "You are right, of course. We have time."

* * *

"Arthur."

Arthur froze in place. He turned slowly, looking at the imposing man making his way towards him.

"Grandfather." He hid any apprehension and dislike he felt towards the man behind a well-crafted mask.

His grandfather, Dristan Weasley, narrowed his eyes, and Arthur knew he had not been able to mask everything. "Your father?"

"In his study, sir." He lowered his head slightly when the man marched right by him. He could not quite stop the shiver that ran down his spine. Even well into his sixties, his grandfather was an intimidating wizard.

He almost jumped out of his skin when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He glared at Mordrain when he saw the small smirk playing on his older brother's lips, but he grew somber when he looked down the corridor his grandfather had taken.

"Grandfather is here," he murmured, unconsciously leaning against Mordrain.

Mordrain's expression darkened, and Arthur was pulled closer to his older brother. "Did he say anything?" Mordrain asked.

Arthur shook his head. "He wanted to talk with father."

Mordrain frowned. "That is unusual," he murmured. "Where is father?"

Arthur pulled away slightly. "You can't go."

Mordrain smiled at him. "Don't worry, I'm just going to see what it's about."

"If you're caught, you'll be punished."

"Then I won't be caught."

Arthur glared at his older brother. Sometimes, he swore that his older brother tried to look for trouble on purpose. "I'm going, too." Someone had to keep his brother out of trouble; apparently, it was his job.

He completely ignored his brother's glare and started walking down the hall, knowing Mordrain would follow him without making a fuss; they did not want to be heard, after all.

They reached their father's study quickly, and they did not even have a need to eavesdrop. The door was not fully closed, and neither their father or grandfather were bothering with keeping their voices down. They shared a look, sneaking closer.

"–my son!"

"You might be the Head; however, I still have seniority. Do not fight me on this, Bryan; you will not win." There was a horrid crashing sound, the magic making the air feel heavy. "Get the boy ready, we will be leaving in half an hour."

Arthur and Mordrain scrambled away when they heard their grandfather make his way towards the door. They hid in a small alcove, their eyes following their grandfather's intimidating form. Though, it was the look in their father's eyes that was seared into their memory when they saw him leave the study.

* * *

It did not take long for them to learn what their father and their grandfather had been talking about, and as Arthur looked out of the window of the carriage that was taking him farther and farther away from Pride Manor, his _home_ , he could not help but wish they had not.

"You will be raised correctly." Arthur did not even glance at the older man sitting in front of him. "You will be raised as the Head of a family should be."

Arthur looked up at that. "Mordrain will be the Head of the family, sir."

The man sneered, and Arthur hated him just a little more for the obvious disgust he showed for his older brother. "I will not have the family in the hands of such a weakling. Mark my words, boy, you will be the Head of the Weasley family, and I expect you to behave as such."

Arthur went back to looking out the window, even though his home had long since vanished from view.

* * *

He glanced at the letter sitting innocently on his desk.

This was supposed to be a joyful occasion. His parents had been overjoyed when Mordrain had gotten his letter. They had celebrated and thrown a small feast. It was supposed to be the same for him, and yet… yet, he had nothing.

No celebration, and certainly not a feast. His parents had not even congratulated him - no Floo call or letter had come from them.

And his grandfather… well, the less said about him the better.

He glanced once more at his Hogwarts letter before leaving the room. Grandfather would be angry with him if he did not finish the books he had assigned.

* * *

"You called, sir?"

He stared into his grandfather's eyes, gray clashing with gray. The time when he had been intimidated by the older wizard had long since passed. He was aware enough now to know that he could easily defeat his grandfather if the need for it ever arose.

"You are needed back at Pride Manor."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. He had not stepped foot inside Pride Manor for six years. He had not received a letter or Floo call from his parents for just as long, and he had not seen his older brother since Mordrain had finished school two years ago.

"Well?" His grandfather snapped. "Get going."

He sneered at the older man and left the study. Without a backwards glance towards the manor, he entered the carriage waiting for him outside. After so long, he was finally going home.

* * *

Arthur could not stop himself from looking around when he dismounted the carriage. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He loved the smell that filled his nose, rich and fragrant, and so very different from the manor he had been forced to call home for the last six years.

When his father passed the Headship to him, he would do everything in his power to make sure that Pride Manor would be protected for centuries to come.

He walked in, the wards allowing him access as if he had never left. He had been just about to call for a house-elf when he heard a near-silent gasp behind him.

"Arthur." The soft voice caressed his ears, and he had to stop himself from closing his eyes.

"Hello, Mother."

She smiled, even as tears filled her eyes, and ran down the stairs, wrapping herself around him.

"Arthur," she whispered, her arms tightening around him. "For a moment, I thought…" He could feel the shuddering breath she took. "Welcome home."

He wrapped his arms around her, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I am home."

She pulled back, giving him a watery smile. "Mordrain is with your father. Come, let us join them."

He followed her up the stairs, letting her lead him towards his father and brother. Why had he been called? After all these years, was his father finally going to announce him as the new Head? The time for that was not right, though. It was usually announced after the Heir had graduated, and he was still finishing his final year.

He froze on the threshold of his parents' bedroom when he saw the frail figure on the bed.

"Arthur." Even his voice was weak.

He took a step inside the room, then another, and another; his feet felt heavier with every step.

"Arthur," his father sighed. "I am glad you came. I wanted to see you before it was too late."

Arthur did not take his eyes off his father, hardly noticing his brother sitting on the side of the bed.

"There is not much time left." His father closed his eyes and took a rattling breath. He coughed, specks of blood painting his lips, and Arthur almost flinched. "I, Bryan Weasley, name Mordrain Weasley, my oldest child, as the new Head of the Weasley family. I ask of you, Arthur Weasley, beloved child of the Weasley family, to help your brother with his duties, and that you protect those of our blood."

Magic surged around them, sealing the will of the Head of House, and Arthur felt a weight settle around his shoulders as his father's words sealed his fate. He looked on, keeping the maelstrom raging in him hidden.

Why had he been sent away if the position was going to fall to his brother? Why had he been forced to leave his home, when the only reward he got was to play the silent shadow to his brother and his descendents? Was this all he was worth?

While his mother and brother mourned his father's last breaths, he could feel nothing but a festering resentment.

* * *

Arthur leaned back on his armchair, observing the shadows cast by the flames in the hearth. He did not look up when a man took the seat on his other side. For long moments, nothing but the crackling of the fire filled the silence. Then, the man spoke.

"Do I have the pleasure of sitting beside the new Head of the Weasley family?"

Arthur turned his head slowly, the glow from the fireplace dancing over sharp features. "Mordrain is the head of the Weasley family."

The man's eyes widened an infinitesimal amount; however, it was enough for Arthur to pick up on it. His grandfather—no matter how much he might detest the man—had taught him well. The Malfoy family might be one of the best families at playing mind games, but he was _better_.

"What will you do now?"

"Why, Marcus, is it not obvious?" Arthur's smile was all teeth. "Protect the bloodline, of course."

* * *

It was all so ordinary, so mundane. Mordrain, being the good son he was, proceeded to be married as soon as their father chose him as Head of the family, and only one month after the wedding, the happy couple were expecting a new addition to the family.

It was not that Arthur objected to the woman his brother had decided to marry. She came from an acceptable bloodline, seemed to be able to string intelligent sentences together, and most of all, she had the same fire as their own mother had, which made her tolerable to Arthur. However, it was still so utterly _normal_.

His brother should have been spreading their influence. He should have been be out there, defending their rights from Muggles and Muggle-tainted alike. He should have been doing more than playing the part of a doting husband.

Arthur's eyes roved over the happy couple as they smiled and laughed with the other guests that were attending the festivities. He closed his eyes, turning away.

 _It should have been me._

* * *

"Weasley."

Arthur had his wand pressed against the speaker's throat. "Do not call me that."

The wizard raised his hands. "Alright." He nodded, taking a couple steps back, while Arthur never took his eyes off him.

Arthur did not turn when he felt someone sidle up to him. "If not Weasley, what do you wish to be called?" Marcus asked.

"Black." He caught Marcus' raised eyebrow from the corner of his eyes, and elaborated, "Arcturus Black. My brother might be running the Weasley family into the ground, but that does not mean that I appreciate it. While we have these small… clandestine meetings, I will go by Arcturus Black." He took a seat at the table, leaning back on his chair. "Now, would anyone mind telling me why we are having this meeting in the first place?"

* * *

He looked up when he heard the heavy sigh coming from Mordrain. "Something the matter?"

Mordrain glanced at him, then slumped and let the newspaper he had been reading drop on the table. "These senseless attacks. They keep escalating. Three children were killed."

If it were not so beneath him, he would have shrugged. "They are only Muggles. Those that died and were magical must have been born to them."

"Arthur!" Mordrain snapped. "The circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant. It's what you do with the gift of life—of magic—that determines who you are."

"Really?" Arthur drawled. "Have you seen them? Walking around, covered in mud from head to toe." Arthur grimaced. "It would not surprise me if their very blood was mud by this point."

Mordrain glared at him, and Arthur took that as his cue to leave. He might as well call Marcus; last he'd heard, there would be another meeting later that evening, and he was not going to miss it.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Arthur turned slowly, locking eyes with the last person he wanted to see, considering the situation he was in. "What does it look like, Brother?" He sneered when he saw his brother trying to protect a small Muggle-tainted child.

Mordrain's eyes darkened, and he raised his wand.

Arthur almost laughed. "You will fight against me? For them? Against your own flesh and blood?" Mordrain did not answer, and Arthur did laugh. A hollow, broken sound, rasping out of his mouth. "Grandfather was right," he sneered. "You are not fit to be the Head of the family. It should have been me."

The fire roared around them, razing the small Muggle village to the ground, and as an explosion shook the ground, they moved.

Spells flew back and forth—deadly curses, misleading with their cheerful colors, lit up the night sky.

Arthur grunted, his hand going to his left eye. He blinked, his vision going hazy on his left side. First blood to Mordrain. His lips pulled back, a feral smile taking over his expression.

Arthur could hear the cries from the tainted child, and a smirk lit up his face. He dodged a sickly, yellow curse, and then took aim. It missed his brother by a lot, and he laughed at his brother's look when he heard the agonizing scream from the child.

Mordrain turned his back to him, intending to go to the child, and Arthur did not hesitate. A curse later, and his brother was on the ground, gashes spreading all over his body, and his blood mingling with the beaten ground under him.

"Weak, pathetic fool," Arthur sneered, stepping on Mordrain's wand and breaking it in half.

"Father should have named me Head. Do not worry, though." Arthur crouched down, reaching over to cup Mordrain's cheek. "I will make sure that the Weasley family prospers. Besides," Arthur's smile stretched from ear to ear, "your child will be joining you shortly."

Mordrain's eyes widened, terror filling the bright blue orbs, and Arthur hated that his brother was afraid now, when there had not been a trace of it when they had been fighting. He made to pull away, only to have Mordrain hold onto his sleeve.

"I, Mor-mordain W-wea-sss-ley, ban-"

Arthur's eyes widened. No, no, no, no. This was not supposed to happen. He tried to move, to speak, but he could not. The magic was holding him in place, preventing him from interfering with the vow.

"Arth-ur Weas-ley from the fa-fa-mily."

The magic of the vow slammed into him, stripping him of any and all connections to the Weasley family.

He crashed to his knees, his harsh breathing drowning out the last pained breath of his brother. He gasped, greedily sucking in much-needed air, but it was too little, far too little.

A moment, a minute, an hour, he did not know, passed with him leaning over the cooling corpse of his brother.

Anyone who might have seen him would have thought it a grieving scene. Marcus was not just anyone.

"Finally, Head of the family?" Marcus raised an eyebrow.

"He banned me."

Marcus hummed, walking around Mordrain's body to stand beside Arthur, and pulled him to his feet.

"Well, Arcturus, maybe it is time for the Black family to step onto the stage."

Arcturus eyes widened imperceptibly, then a laugh bubbled up in his throat.

It was time for the Blacks to rise.

* * *

 **A.N.:** Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you to the wonderful agentmoppet, Kefalion, and 3cheersforidiots! You guys are amazing. This would never have been finished on time without you.


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